Harry Potter and The Last Redoubt
by MaraudersintheNight
Summary: An account of Harry's 17th year, including his struggle to defeat Lord Voldemort at last.
1. Chapter 1Ends and Beginnings

HARRY POTTER AND THE LAST REDOUBT

Chapter 1

ENDS AND BEGINNINGS

There were few things in the world that were as peaceful and perfect as a midsummer's eve. The balmy winds of June had not yet released their grip in order to let the scorching breath of July take over. The flowers of spring remained indulgently fragrant and reprieve from ordinary toils was a novelty still.

To say, however, that Harry Potter despised the illusion of tranquility was a gross understatement.

It had been on a calm evening such as this too few days ago that he had returned from a windswept shoreline to find that the Dark Mark had been set over the one place he had been able to call a haven. Professor Dumbledore, weakened by the effort to locate a Horcrux, had insisted on continuing on to Hogwarts because, whatever the circumstances, his first duty had always been to the students.

It was a duty that had forced Harry to watch him die, paralyzed first by enchantment and then by horror. He had been both lauded and condemned as Dumbledore's man, the one who would remain loyal to him in all circumstances, but for all that devotion, he had not been able to even mount a defense on behalf of his mentor.

On another calm night, he had followed his fellow students to the lakeside and watched the solemn ceremony that made a paltry effort at honoring the man who had given everything to the defense of those he served. He had turned his back on Hogwarts and had thought it possible to turn his back on his friends, but instead found that they were as stubbornly devoted to him as he was to the acrimonious task that lay before him.

They could not understand in the slightest what he would have to risk in order to complete his mission, but they could understand that, while he had been abandoned many times in his life, he did not have to be abandoned by them.

So, instead of setting off alone, Harry found himself in the garden of the Burrow on a night that was as perfect as the event that would take place. It seemed odd that normal things such as weddings could be celebrated when every possible familiarity was being stripped away from the wizarding world, but he could not begrudge this joy to two friends.

Hermione Granger sat to his left, her arm linked through his, as if she were afraid that he would disappear at any given moment, but her gaze was fixed on the tall, red-haired young man standing awkwardly in his dress robes near the trellis. Ron Weasley kept shooting her furtive glances and sheepish smiles to suggest that he was distinctly uncomfortable with this arrangement.

Harry barely noticed Ron, however, since he was watching the slender form standing directly opposite Ron. Sheathed in an elegant drapery of pale gold that seemed to inject living fire into her already shimmering hair, he found himself wholly unable to put the way he was feeling into words.

The most inadequate, but appropriate term that came to mind was exasperation. Not towards her in particular, or perhaps he was exasperated that she still persisted in having feelings for him in the same inevitable way that he did for her.

Unrequited love, he had discovered the hard way, was painful, but happily less complicated and much easier to stomach than the alternative. He simply couldn't convince Ginny of that fact.

A change in the lilting music that came from the radio brought them all to their feet and Harry turned to find Fleur entering the garden, her silvery hair twined around the goblin-made tiara that had been promised to her on the night that she had finally earned the approbation of her future mother-in-law. With the long train of her ivory dress brushing the grass, she appeared to be floating as she walked down the aisle on her father's arm.

It had come as a surprise to many, Harry included, that, in the absence of Dumbledore, Bill had asked the erstwhile Professor Lupin to perform the ceremony, but there seemed to be something beyond a shared experience of werewolf brutality that linked them. Despite disparate ages, the two friends seemed to understand better than most how to allow loyalty to endure beyond all obstacles.

Remus stepped forward, a rather uncharacteristically broad smile on his lined face. "Who gives this woman in marriage?"

"I do," Fleur's father supplied before kissing her cheek and placing her hand in Bill's.

He moved to sit next to his wife who was clutching Mrs. Weasley's hand for dear life.

"It is a common fact," Remus continued, "that love stops for nothing, tragedy included. We have seen that in how our family ties have been strengthened even in war, how friendships become unbreakable in the crucible of betrayal, and how the union of hearts cannot be sundered by circumstance."

Undoubtedly, every mind thought of the fact that 'circumstance' had involved the threat of becoming a werewolf and the reality of scars that went deeper than the mangled flesh on Bill's face.

"It is because of that common fact that we come here today," he pressed on. "We thank you for coming to celebrate this union as much as we thank William and Fleur for allowing us this rare joy."

Raising his head, he surveyed the crowd. "If there are any here who know of any reason why these two should not be wed, let him speak now or forever hold his peace."

When only the silence answered, he nodded to Bill and the pair knelt, extracting their wands and linking them with a thin stream of golden light. Remus sent a silver light into the midst of the stream, then cleared his throat.

"William Albus Weasley, do you take Fleur Marie Delacour to be your lawfully wedded wife, forsaking all others to love and cherish her, and to honor and protect her in richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Bill vowed.

"And do you, Fleur Marie Delacour, take William Albus Weasley to be your lawfully wedded husband, forsaking all others to love and cherish him, and to honor and protect him in richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Fleur echoed.

The silence was broken by a synchronized round of sniffles and sighs from everyone from Hagrid to Hermione.

"By the power invested in me by the Ministry of Magic," Remus concluded, "I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Needing no encouragement, Bill had already leaned across to perform that duty before Remus even finished the sentence. A round of approving applause rolled across the garden.

Perhaps perfection was bittersweet, but it didn't have to be dominated by the bitter.

"Care for a dance?"

Harry smiled slightly, hand extended to Ginny. "Not fair," he protested. "I was going to ask first."

"You hadn't spoken to me since this morning," she reminded, "so I thought I'd give you a shove in the right direction."

Her hand raised to dancing position as her other rested on his shoulder. "You look preoccupied."

"That's one word for it," he admitted.

She regarded him somberly, then glanced to the side, where her mother and father were waltzing in matching, rust-colored robes and wearing equally matching grins.

"How long?"

Harry turned slightly so he wouldn't have to face that sight when he confessed the itinerary. "As soon as midnight comes," he murmured. "We don't want to interrupt things."

"And you think sneaking about with a war on is the way to avoid that?" she scoffed, turning him back in that direction. "Do you think it will be easier for us if you just disappear…"

_Us_, she'd said. She was at least respecting his wishes that she remain to help protect the family.

And, if Hogwarts remained in session, she would have to return there. Even without Albus Dumbledore, it offered a protection that Harry could not promise.

"I don't pretend that this will be easy," he shot back, "but I do not wish to complicate things."

"That's the same discourse you've been giving me since the night of Dumbledore's funeral," she snapped, "and I'm still waiting for a good excuse."

This drew his gaze back to her, but he found none of the fury in her eyes that he had expected, only a raw pain that he could only increase.

"I have none," he confessed.

"Damn," she muttered. "I was hoping you were lying about that."

All was prepared, from the packs that they had stuffed with spare robes, miscellaneous tools such as pocket Sneakoscopes and potions ingredients, to the Invisibility Cloak that still managed to cover the three of them.

They crept down the stairs, eyes straining as they carefully avoided the squeaky spots and trick steps, as if they expected any noise, breath included, to bring down calamity on their heads.

Since Mrs. Weasley was the one most likely to respond, this expectation was not that far off.

Nevertheless, the downstairs was empty and the only light came from the moon filtered through the gingham curtains.

"OW!"

"Shhhhhhhhh," Hermione hissed. "Do you want us caught?"

"I stubbed my toe on something," Ron protested, bending to retrieve it.

The package was bundled thickly in what appeared to be three Weasley sweaters in maroon, green, and periwinkle, but inside was a packet of food.

"It can't be from Mum," Ron murmured. "She would have forgotten that I hate corned beef."

Or perhaps it was her apologetic attempt at wishing them well that she remembered this once. The hard object that Ron had stubbed his toe on turned out to be a pocket watch that mimicked the family clock that showed the situation of each family member. This one, however, had three new additions: Fleur, Harry, and Hermione.

On the eve of returning to two of the places he had ever called home, he was being granted another.


	2. Chapter 2Coming Around

CHAPTER 2

COMING AROUND

He was hardly surprised to find that things had proceeded as if he had never come near 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys, while bound by honor and an undeveloped sense of familial protection to tolerate him whilst he was in their home, would have forgotten that he was supposed to arrive if it were not for the annual reminder from Hogwarts.

Undoubtedly, they had been advised of his imminent return from school, but when he had failed to materialize in their presence, they had probably begun to harbor a false sense of hope that he had finally been offed and no one had bothered to tell them.

As a result, when he rang the doorbell, it went unnoticed due to the blaring of three separate televisions in the kitchen alone—one on the counter in Dudley's line of sight, one behind the table in case he had to be bothered to move, and one for Uncle Vernon. The high, trilling voice of his horse-faced aunt occasionally punctuated the din, but no one seemed to be minding her in the slightest.

Finally, Hermione drew her wand in unaffectionate exasperation and muttered, _"Alohamora."_ The door unlocked, then swung wide as she gave it a gentle shove.

"YOU!"

Instinctively, they all shrank back at Uncle Vernon's outraged bellow, but Harry didn't have time to wonder what had him in such a foul temper before a mass of white feathers and talons settled on his shoulder.

There was no telling how long Hedwig had been there, but even if she had just arrived, the mere sight of an owl would inspire this sort of conniption fit. Judging from the fact that Uncle Vernon was starting to resemble a ripe eggplant, Hedwig had probably been wreaking havoc on the home for a good three days now. Even better, he appeared to have tried to take a few swipes at her, since his hair was more untidy than Harry's and his shirt was ripped and bloodied on the arms.

The sight was comical enough, but Ron and Hermione, almost wholly unaccustomed to dealing with the Dursleys, had drawn their wands and were looking as if they were prepared to do battle.

Given his uncle's temperament on the best of days, this might not be too radical a stance.

"Three days," he hissed. "I have endured that bloody pigeon of yours for three days and if you're not gone within ten minutes, I'll show you the magic of my fists. Understood, boy?"

"Don't worry," Harry smirked. "I loathe the sight of myself here even more than you do."

He pushed past Vernon to mount the stairs two at a time and did not speak until Hermione had shut the small bedroom's door behind her.

"I think he's mellowing with age," Harry grinned.

"That isn't very encouraging," Hermione remarked with a roll of the eyes. "You'd best see what the letter says."

He had completely forgotten to wonder why Hedwig had appeared here, since she frequently arrived at a place ahead of him for convenience's sake. Nudging her onto the dresser, he gave her head a gentle stroke, then reached down to untie three scrolls of parchment fastened to her leg.

"One for each of us," Hermione observed. "It's a bit early for school letters, isn't it?"

"Especially when we're not sure that the school will reopen," Ron added.

"And when we won't be returning as it is," Harry finished, frowning at the envelope.

It certainly was _from_ the school, complete with the wax seal and green writing that he had come to expect over the years, but why it was coming at the beginning of July was admittedly beyond his own comprehension.

He slit it open, then shook the contents into his hand. It was a single sheet of paper, folded around a hard object. He unfolded the top, pulling the metal badge into his other hand as he read.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Pursuant to the events of two weeks ago, the school governors have met regarding the future of Hogwarts. While all agree that closing the school would be against the students' best interests, it is an irrefutable fact that certain measures must be taken immediately to prepare the school for the year ahead._

_Regarding this, your presence is requested at a meeting on July 3 at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The enclosed badge will serve as a Portkey at precisely 4:13 in the afternoon. Please respond to confirm your intention to attend._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

"July 3?" he queried.

"The same," Hermione responded quietly. "What are we to do?"

"Go, of course," Ron said automatically. "Just because we won't be there next year doesn't mean we can't help the Order…"

Hermione didn't respond, only turned the badge in her hand over to reveal the inscription.

_Head Girl._

Harry's was marked with the corresponding Head Boy and it suddenly seemed to become a lump of lead in his hand.

He couldn't return, not with so much at stake and his enemy growing steadily bolder, but he had not yet turned his back on his fellow students, much less the Order of the Phoenix.

"We don't have to decide now," Hermione said tentatively. "The meeting's not for another five days…"

"I have a responsibility," Harry bit out. "We've already been over this."

"Your duty to the prophecy doesn't have to exclude your duty to yourself," she reasoned.

"My duty to myself and the duty to kill Voldemort are the same," he retorted.

For a long moment, they both just stared at him, obviously mulling over every possible argument against him, but in the end, it was Ron who spoke first.

"You've never been afraid to take help before," he stated. "Why should that change now?"

"Because I want someone left behind in case I fail," Harry snapped.

"That's pretty selfish of you," Hermione snorted.

"I don't think so," he countered.

"Then think about this," she suggested. "If you have help, you won't have to leave anyone behind."

He wished more than anything that he could believe that.

-----

Seven minutes later, they were descending the staircase with a few extra supplies stored in their satchels when they found their way blocked.

"If you're so keen on me leaving," Harry growled, "standing between me and the door isn't the best way to do it."

Aunt Petunia was looking at him in much the same way that she had two years ago on the balmy night that he had been attacked by dementors. It was a look of uncannily sympathetic terror that he had never thought could exist in this place.

And for the first time, he realized that he still had another ally.

"No chance that you might…"

"Die?" Harry said nastily. "Don't worry, soon enough."

"Stay?" she finished instead.

She might as well have hit him with a _rictusempra _curse—he was suddenly unable to breathe out of the sheer shock of her question.

Finally, his breath left him in one word: "_Why?_"

"You have protection here," she answered, "whether we've given it willingly or not."

"I know," he admitted, "but it doesn't matter. Nowhere I can stay will be safe and I'm not putting the only family I have left at risk again."

It was probably the first time he had been willing to acknowledge them as such, but then again, it was the first time Aunt Petunia had bothered to offer something other than nominal protection.

"You have protection," she echoed herself, "but if you ever want it, you will have a home here as well."

Impulsively, he descended to the landing and hugged her for the first time in his own memory. It was not the same sort of embrace that he found comfort in when Mrs. Weasley treated him as one of her own or one that provided the relief of friendship as Hermione and Ron's did, but it was an embrace of promises.

"I'll keep that in mind," he assured her.

-----


End file.
